


All I want for Christmas (is that sweet, sweet ass)

by perilouslips



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: #Not Sorry, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bottom Iwaizumi Hajime, Bottom Oikawa Tooru, California, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, First Time Bottoming, Hands everywhere, IwaOi fuck like rabbits, IwaOi in love, Iwaizumi Hajime has a Big Dick, Iwaizumi Hajime has a piercing, M/M, Oikawa Tooru has a perfectly nice dick too fuck off, Oikawa Tooru is a Good Significant Other, Oikawa Tooru is a Little Shit, Old Friends, Oral Sex, Post-Time Skip, Snapshots of Domesticity, Top Iwaizumi Hajime, Top Oikawa Tooru, Ushijima Wakatoshi is a Sweetheart, dumb holiday jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27737416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilouslips/pseuds/perilouslips
Summary: { It's the most wonderful time of the yearforsomany reasons. }{ how many ways do I love you?shall we count them, my darling? }
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 46
Kudos: 72
Collections: porn_with_or_without_plot





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome.  
> Pull up a chair, the fire is nice and toasty. 
> 
> This was intended to follow the grand tradition of hammy holiday specials,  
> so I guess consider this my pitch for Hallmark (After Dark), a channel nobody asked for.  
> If you can believe it, the original draft only included actual sex at the end,  
> and I _truly_ thought that’s how it would stay—which is such a fantastic joke that I’ve been laughing about it for a few weeks now.  
> (touché, universe)
> 
> Set Christmas 2018; can be considered a continuation of [Secret secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652520);  
> if you’re curious about the piercing that will be mentioned by and by throughout the story,  
> just follow that link—you won’t be sorry.  
>  ~~and if for some reason you are sorry, then you’ll probably hate this story too, so like: merry Christmas, don’t waste your time~~
> 
> many many thank yous to dzesi for beta-ing what she could even while the holidays swallowed her
> 
> Please enjoy **< 3**

##  **ON THE 12TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{12 drummers drumming}_

They’re splayed on their backs in Iwaizumi’s bed, letting breath settle back into their lungs after their usual post-airport-pickup fuck session, when Iwaizumi asks,

“What do you want for Christmas, asshole?”

(His tone makes it obvious that ‘asshole’ is his pet-name of choice in this tender moment.)

Tooru rolls over to hitch an arm and a leg over him in a lazy body-drape hug. “What an excellent suggestion, baby.”

“Mm..?” Iwaizumi flattens his hand under Tooru’s middle and sneaks an arm around him. “You lost me.”

“Nothing better than a heaping helping of some award-winning, farm-fresh asshole.” Tooru trails his lips over his boyfriend’s pec and smears grimy junk against his hip, sighing as he murmurs, “Iwa-chan’s always so thoughtful.”

Iwaizumi growls at him, sliding his grip into Tooru’s hair so he can tug his head back and punish him with a deep tongue-kiss. This distracts them from the conversation for a fair few minutes—more, if Tooru’d be allowed his way, his libido all-too-easily pulled out of stupor by Iwaizumi’s slightest horny inclinations—but Iwa’s intent on getting an answer.

He pulls back, soothing Tooru’s disappointed whine into a hum with a scalp massage as he mutters, “I’m serious, tell me what you want.”

Iwa’s massage skills are magical, so it’s with considerable effort that Tooru drags himself back up onto his bullshit, mumbling, “You think I’m not being serious? I dream _every night_ of getting to tap this illustrious cake.” He slaps the side of Iwa’s rump for emphasis and gives the toned curve of it a cheeky little squeeze, letting his hips follow the lilt of his own nonsense as he humps lazily against Iwa’s side. “ _Unf_ _unf_ , that’s the stuff... Already know I can bounce quarters off it, but I wanna stick my roll of quarters _in_ it, if you catch my drift, _papacito._ ”

“Keep making jokes,” Iwaizumi grunts, “just see how far that gets you.”

“ ‘m not joking,” Tooru murmurs, punctuating his words with a kiss, mouth loitering on Iwa’s chest as he continues, “if there’s coal in my stocking, we can put that up there, too. I’ll bet you’re tight enough we could make diamonds.”

Post-sex-drowsiness permeates Iwaizumi’s voice. “Look at you, voluntarily accepting that you’re rotten enough to deserve coal.” His hand drifts down Tooru’s back, lightly circling blunt nails between his shoulder blades. “Think they call that ‘personal growth’.”

“ _Cállate_ ,” Tooru grouses at him. He leans up to scrape teeth gently on the side of his neck and mumbles, “ _Mi pendejo amor, que forro sos.. querés calentar la pava y dejala ahi, qué chiste maldito_ …” He’s way too tired to make a real thing out of it (blowing a bunch of energy as soon as he lands definitely makes the jet lag kick in faster, the ever-reliable sex reset) so he follows his complaint with a more decisive love bite and a wide yawn.

Iwaizumi laughs quietly. “Your vocabulary’s really expanding by leaps and bounds.” He brings his other hand up to rest over Tooru’s arm on his chest. “I’m impressed, Shittykawa. That’s the best accent I’ve heard yet.”

“Don’t try to distract me with flattery.” Tooru burrows his forehead up against the warm crook of Iwa’s neck. “All I want for Christmas is to make sweet, _sweet_ love to Iwa-chan’s precious, supremely beautiful asshole, and that’s that.”

Iwa rumbles a nonresponse, but Tooru’s already well on his way to floating into his happiest place, the section of dreamland he only gets to see when he’s freshly loved-up and snuggled in Iwaizumi’s arms. Renouncing his Japanese citizenship to carve out the future he’s been dreaming of in Argentina may have sounded drastic to some people—the few friends who somehow haven’t figured out (or accepted) that he’s crazy, his more traditional family members—but Iwaizumi Hajime has been Tooru's main homeland for a year and a half now. The space between his defined chest and thick biceps offers a more satisfying feeling of belonging than any passport ever could.

The truth is, Tooru doesn’t have a real answer. Iwaizumi douses him with love every day they’re able to be in the same place at the same time, sends as many heart-quenching sips over the phone as he can, and, in the here and now, Tooru’s got everything he could possibly want already—Iwaizumi’s warmth, his smell surrounding him, the cumulative physical evidence of his love marking Tooru’s collarbones and dripping down the back of his thigh to puddle in the bedsheets—so if there’s a larger perfection to be grasped at, (save the obvious choice of all this plus a gold medal around his neck), Tooru has yet to conceive of it.

Tooru is a simple man; as long as he’s got volleyball and Iwaizumi, he’s a happy camper.

And he’s got _both_.

So, as they say…

_“What do you get the man who has everything?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun(?) fact: Japan’s citizenship laws are _duper_ strict
> 
> > grumbly Spanish = {Shut up. My asshole love, what a prick you are.. you wanna heat up the kettle and leave it there, what a damn joke…}


	2. Chapter 2

##  **ON THE 11TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{11 pipers piping}_

The next morning sees them both in the shower: Iwaizumi because he has work to do, Tooru because he’s of the opinion that Iwa’s bed isn’t nearly as comfy without Iwa in it. He vastly prefers taking up the extra space in the almost-too-small shower and drowsing on his boyfriend for an extra fifteen minutes—(getting in the way _just enough_ because rubbing up against Iwaizumi under the hot water has a 95% success rate for leading to sloppy-delicious morning sex, and who needs coffee when you can have hot dick instead?).

The unfortunate state of affairs is that Iwaizumi has a solid workload to slog through over the holidays—a natural consequence of approaching the last semester of his master’s program—which means there’s an above-average amount of life-distraction built into Tooru’s three-week stay. Iwaizumi has already made a point of assuring him—during round two the day before, dusting rough-voiced words across his skin as Iwa’s mouth traveled to all manner of interesting places on Tooru’s body—that he would make every effort to ensure they pack their few weeks together full of quality time. Tooru still thinks it’s bullshit that grad students don’t get as much time off as undergrads, but of course, he has very little say in the matter (not that that stops him from saying a great many things, anyway).

In any case, he’s making the most of the time he has with the love of his life, and if that means waking up earlier than he’d like during his well-earned vacation time, so be it.

Besides which, Iwaizumi’s general _taking care of business_ mentality means that if they’re in the shower together, he’ll set about doing delightful things like washing Tooru’s hair without even being asked, and of course Tooru guzzles up every ounce of domestic bliss Iwaizumi offers because he’s, like, _stupid_ in love, and being stupid in love with someone makes a person disgustingly sappy in a way they wouldn’t hesitate to tease literally anyone else about—hypocrisy, thy name is Oikawa Tooru. 

This particular morning, Iwaizumi offers up an unexpected surprise as he gently scrubs Tooru’s back. “Would you be open to grabbing dinner with Wakatoshi tonight?”

“Whaaaat? Why? He’s here? _Whyyyyy?”_ Tooru skews his voice as whiny as he can manage while he’s still half-asleep.

“He’s in town visiting his dad for the holidays,” Iwaizumi says, washcloth-circles unfaltering.

Tooru’s met Ushiwaka’s dad before (also through an Iwaizumi-arranged dinner) and honestly liked him quite a bit, despite the fact that he’s responsible for fathering one of the more infuriating individuals Tooru’s encountered in his life. But if the father is any real metric, now that they’ve got a few more years of maturity under their belts, it’s entirely possible that Tooru could manage a limited amount of time with the big bastard of a son.

Iwaizumi moves closer behind him, still soaping patterns on Tooru’s back. “He’s a good guy. I think you’ll agree, if you spend a little time getting to know him off the court.” His idle hand slides from Tooru’s shoulder to his waist. “You know I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

“Rrrgh,” Tooru says.

“Besides,” Iwaizumi slips his arms around Tooru from behind, pressing up against him as he smoothes suds over his chest, “I’ve got more work on my plate these next few weeks than I thought… so it’ll be good for you to have someone to hang out with when I need to concentrate on _other things_.” He husks the last two words up the side of Tooru’s neck, and Tooru can acknowledge that it’s difficult for brains to function when necessary blood keeps getting hogged by a smaller head—the likes of which is now firmly swollen against Tooru’s backside—since his own cognition is starting to suffer for the exact same reason.

The washcloth _thwap_ s to the tile, and Tooru leans his (bigger) head back on his lover’s shoulder as Iwaizumi’s strong hand curls around his growing erection, squeezing up over the tip in a way that makes his knees jelly.

“Will you play nice for me?” Iwa’s voice is irresistible, hot in his ear as he touches Tooru exactly how he likes.

“I, I guess it’s okay.. it’s— _ah—_ the holidays, after all,” Tooru mumbles toward the ceiling tile. “I can— _nhh_ stand Ushiwaka for, for a n-nigh— _fuck, Iwa—_ ” a particularly vicious squeeze makes him twist his head back to nip at Iwa’s ear as he pants, “—Iwa _-chan_ , stop teasing me, you goddamned— _hah,_ gua _písimo—mm_.. m-mother _fucker…_ ”

“Then pass me the lube,” Iwa growls into the skin of his throat.

Tooru forgets all about making up excuses, forgets about Ushiwaka entirely as he fumbles with the bottles on the shower ledge, squeezing some choice silicone lubricant on Iwa’s proffered fingers so he can slick himself up. He shoves the bottle back where it came from before leaning forward to brace against the tiles, impatient every second it takes for those slippery digits to find their way inside him one by one.

“See what I mean?” Iwaizumi continues as he’s scissoring Tooru open, voice low and rough. “Gotta send you out to get your exercise, or else I’ll feel responsible for working you over myself.”

“Fuck work— _nnf-f-uck_ , if you withhold sex because of w- _work_ , I’ll call the f _fffuckin’_ _police_ ,” Tooru moans, pushing back against Iwa’s hand, already in maximum slut-mode—a sexual supercar in Iwaizumi’s peerless hands, factory-fresh and zero to sixty in 3 seconds.

“Hmm,” Iwaizumi rumbles. His mouth climbs up Tooru’s spine, starting at the base until it’s at his ear again, lips closing around Tooru’s earlobe briefly before he murmurs, “Can’t have that now, can we.”

Ever since they finally fell into each other’s arms, they've fucked and/or fooled around at least once every day they’re together, unable to keep their hands off each other for too long—something one might call the polar opposite of a problem. Iwaizumi conducts their love-making masterfully, plying Tooru’s deeply-willing body with his talented baton and pulling all manner of romantic arias from Tooru’s throat to accompany the sensual bass-line provided by his pounding hips. Tooru’s had some good sex in his life, but leave it to Iwaizumi Hajime to _really_ make that ass sing.

Tooru often finds himself desperate for Iwaizumi when they’re apart—turns out his own hand isn’t quite the charmer it used to be, now that Iwaizumi’s left his fingerprints everywhere the sun don’t shine—and hears similar strain in Iwa’s voice during the long stretches of physical separation when they’re forced to eke what levels of pleasure they can from much-less-satisfying rounds of phone sex.

But when they’re together, the only sure bet is that they’re going to sweat on every available surface of Iwa’s apartment multiple times; they were many years deep in intimacy already—even before the dick-touching started—and that heady amalgam sweetens a little more every time they press against each other, skin-to-skin and otherwise.

Iwaizumi presses skin against him now, presses hotter skin _into_ him, slo-o-owly so slowly, the lower bead of his piercing tantalizing Tooru’s tenderest flesh deeper, _deeper_ , all the way until he’s bottoming out on that thick length with a drawn-out wail. Tooru keeps up his siren call as Iwaizumi rails him under the shower spray, working Tooru inside-out with hard cock and steady hand until he adds a series of thicker drips to the steam coating the bathroom wall. 


	3. Chapter 3

##  **ON THE 10TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{10 lords a-leaping}_

Dinner hadn’t been anywhere close to the degree of torture Tooru’d imagined it would be, but he’s still confused as to why he’s now sitting in a coffee shop with that damned man himself: Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Over burgers the night before, Iwaizumi had gamely sweet-talked the both of them into making nice—mostly Tooru, but whatever—all for the ultimate purpose of pawning him off on Ushijima as needed. Ushijima’s polite indifference had been as jarring as it ever was, so Tooru had primarily been focused on keeping his mouth full, lest he say something nasty—which is guaranteed half the time anyway, and aggressively so where _Ushi_ -fucking- _waka_ is concerned.

But for some reason, the arrogance woven into Ushijima's natural-born talent has transmuted over the years. Last night, it manifested in his silently sharing the sweet-potato fries Tooru had been coveting on his plate. Today, it shows itself as a small coniferous tree, which Ushijima had—also silently—placed on the low table between them as Tooru settled into his seat.

Now they’re staring at each other, and Tooru can see exactly what Iwa was talking about in the shower (not).

He attempts to break the ice—miles thick—by pointing his chin at the tree, eyes flat on Ushjima’s stony mug. “Friend of yours?”

“No,” Ushijima says, as if this is a real question. “It is a gift.”

“Why would you bring a _gift_?” Tooru asks, disdain ladled over his tone like gravy.

“Because it is a nice thing to do,” Ushijima says. There’s the slightest edge of _obviously_ in his voice, none of which is betrayed by his face.

Tooru narrows his eyes. “I _suppose_.”

“It is in the spirit of Christmas to be kind,” Ushijima intones.

Tooru scowls harder and pointedly says “ _Bah, humbug._ ” He leaves all harsher words behind his teeth, unwilling to test this so-called Christmas spirit too much; Tooru’s got big plans for this particular holiday season, and he doesn’t need any curses hanging over him, no matter how holly and/or jolly they might be.

Ushijima looks down into his coffee mug. “I will admit: I am not much into holiday cheer, either.” He looks back up at Tooru, gaze still infuriatingly even. “But my father has many small traditions he has enjoyed sharing with me since I began spending the holidays with him.” His gaze falls back to the little tree. “This is one of them. Gifts of cheer, for old friends and new.”

Even though this gesture ultimately comes down to the work Ushjima’s dad has put into deprogramming him (Tooru’s running theory is that Ushiwaka’s mother is a terminator of some sort), the underlying sweetness of it warms Tooru’s heart the tiniest bit toward the man sitting across from him… though he's still a _whole-ass_ bastard Tooru wholeheartedly desires to stomp into pulp on the court.

Tooru takes a sour-mouthed sip of his caramel latte and attempts diplomacy, muttering, “Well, I guess that is actually pretty nice.” He licks straight through the mound of melting whipped cream on top of his coffee, like a heathen.

“I agree,” Ushijima says. “Are you enjoying your drink?”

Tooru grunts his assent.

“Good,” Ushijima says. “I am enjoying mine as well.”

“Black coffee,” Tooru mumbles, accumulating eye strain from wanting to roll them so badly. “ _Yum_.”

“I agree,” Ushijima says again. Enjoyment of drinks now officially confirmed, they pass a few questionably companionable minutes consuming them—Tooru staring glumly out the window, Ushijima staring at the tree. It’s a blessing neither of them have a loudly-ticking watch to fill the interminable silence.

But silence is boring, and Tooru hates boredom even more than he hates (hated?) Ushiwaka, so he releases a heavy exhale and very deliberately turns his head back towards Ushijima.

“So… what kind of tree is it?”

“Rosemary,” Ushijima says.

“Huh,” Tooru leans forward to sniff at the plant. “Smells nice.”

“Yes,” Ushijima says.

“I didn’t know rosemary grew in such a festive shape,” Tooru mutters. He leans back in his chair, eyeing Ushijima over the rim of his extra-large cup.

“I believe it was shaped that way on purpose,” Ushijima says.

“Fascinating,” Tooru mumbles.

“Horticulture is something I would like to know more about,” Ushijima says. “Plants have a great many uses. They also have simple needs, and that is something I can relate to.”

“Uh… yeah?” Tooru blinks at him. Ushijima blinks back, cow like—which is to say, with that strange mellow aura large beefy animals radiate, peacefully chewing their cud (and/or sipping coffee). 

The ice between them suddenly feels paper-thin, and Tooru’s not quite sure what happened to the glacier previously occupying that space.

“I don’t know much about plant stuff either,” he offers.

“There are many things to know,” Ushijima states, cryptic words so completely deadpan that it feels like he’s about to drop a prophecy.

Tooru sits up straighter in his chair. “Like what?”

Ushijima blinks solemnly at him. “I am not sure; I do not know them yet.”

Tooru stares.

“Would you like to go running with me tomorrow?” Ushijima asks.

Tooru is shocked to discover that he doesn’t hate the idea.

Ushijima continues. “I prefer to run on the beach, when I am here. It is better t—”

“I trained on the beach with Shouyou!” Tooru blurts out.

Ushijima blinks a few times in a row, then asks, “With Hinata Shouyou?”

“No, the other Shouyou we both know,” Tooru says flatly, finally letting his eyes do the 360 they've been aching for.

“As far as I am aware, we do not know another Shouyou.” Ushijima doesn’t speak sarcasm, apparently.

Tooru sits back with a sigh. “Yes, with _Hinata Shouyou_. In Rio.”

“Brazil,” Ushijima intones.

“Uh-huh.”

Tooru contemplates Ushijima for a minute. Ushijima contemplates him back. It feels… _companionable_ , but maybe for real this time _._

Tooru can acknowledge that it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, having someone besides Iwaizumi to hang out with while he’s here, especially with Iwaizumi being busier than expected—a reality of being coupled with a hardworking, intensely-driven, and highly responsible individual who doesn’t sweat heavier workloads, even if it cuts into his enjoyment of the holidays.

So he takes another sip of his latte and says, “Hey, uh… want me to teach you some beach volleyball?”


	4. Chapter 4

##  **ON THE 9TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{9 ladies dancing}_

The next day, Ushijima makes a highly rational point about acclimating their muscles to sandy terrain before throwing themselves into any beach matches; Tooru thinks he’s being a little over-cautious, but goes along with it. They spend most of the morning doing interval running and side-to-side drills. Winter in Irvine is mild, so they post up at an outdoor cafe after to refuel with some healthy smoothies, toasty sunshine duly compensating for the sea breeze chilling their sweat. 

Tooru finds himself curious what Ushijima has been doing since high school. First and foremost because of their old rivalry, but also because it’s hard to imagine people with his kind of personality doing _anything_ —volleyball training is one thing, but does he read or watch TV? (Does he even know _how_ to read?) Does he just stare at the walls of his apartment between scheduled activities? Ushijima, too, is deeply (if expressionlessly) fascinated by Tooru’s journey to the Argentinian pro league. They spend two whole hours _talking_ , almost like people who are actually enjoying themselves, and only part ways after making plans to jog again tomorrow. Tooru picks up a coffee for Iwaizumi and lightly stinks up his rental for the half-hour drive back home, boggling the whole way at the odd turn of the universe that’s brought him and Ushiwaka together.

He sails through the door of the apartment, trilling, “I have returned to you, my love!”

Iwaizumi’s on the couch, slanted heavily forward to get a better squint at his laptop, which is resting on a small pile of books on the coffee table; a legal pad full of scribble-scratch handwriting rests on his knee. His brows are crinkled together in a way Tooru normally associates with grouchy nicknames, but his expression lightens as he looks up. He gives Tooru a cute lopsided smile. “Hey, you.”

Tooru tugs his shoes off, returning the smile with a little extra sparkle—he’s the only one who ever sees this cuteness, which is both endearing _and_ arousing—before he saunters closer to deposit the coffee on the tiny side table next to the couch and distributes all 200-something pounds of himself across Iwaizumi’s lap. “I bring you lukewarm caffeine,” he announces, loudly smooching both his cheeks, “and also my hot, _hot_ love.”

Iwaizumi cups Tooru’s face and meets him in the middle, beguiling Tooru’s hands to drift into his hair with a lingering slip of tongue. He puts a few centimeters between their mouths to murmur, “Did you have a good time?”

The words are innocuous, but Tooru’s belly tightens as he takes in the way Iwaizumi’s pupils are dilating.

So he leans close again, murmuring, “Yeah, but why don’t I tell you about it later?”

Iwaizumi’s tongue delves into his mouth again without hesitation.

Tooru responds enthusiastically, still pent-up from this morning—Iwa had snuck out of bed without waking him somehow, so Tooru hadn’t had time to jump on his bone(r) before he’d needed to meet Ushijima—and Iwaizumi is clearly sorry for his grave oversight. He’s very quick to lift Tooru up completely—he _ll_ _o_ _, muscles_ —then dump him back on the couch so he can start divesting him of his clothes, jerking Tooru’s shirt up over his head so fast it gets stuck.

Tooru titters as Iwa untangles him, then laughs outright at the flush dusting his cheeks. “My precious Iwa-chan,” he croons, reaching up and dancing fingertips over them.

Iwa swoops down to stifle Tooru’s amusement with his mouth, then growls, “Get your pants off, Shittykawa.”

Tooru’s happy to do as he’s told, peeling off his socks while Iwa grabs lube. He stands up to peel his shorts off next, but they've barely dropped before Iwaizumi’s fingers are crawling around his hips. He presses hot kisses to the left and right of Tooru’s dick, then licks up his chest; Tooru sucks in one breath, then another, as Iwaizumi pulls him closer, swiping his tongue further up Tooru’s salty neck. “I love how you taste,” he says roughly, yanking Tooru’s left leg up around his hip, grinding into Tooru’s naked sensitivity with his still-clothed cock, then sealing their lips together again as he pulls the bottle out of his pocket, glossing a few fingers to open Tooru up, working him with delicious rigor—one; then two; three, _four, baby_ ** _please_** _,_ ** _have_** **_mercy_** —

Tooru barely even has to beg before Iwaizumi’s strong-arming him down onto the (extremely literal) love seat, shoving his track pants down around his thighs before he pushes Tooru’s knees up around his ears. Iwaizumi appraises him for a moment like this, spread wide and panting.

Tooru whines, pleading with his eyes until Iwaizumi eases groaningly into him, and dissolves gradually as Iwa thrusts hard, thick love as deep as it’ll go. 

If he were less distracted by Iwaizumi’s _everything_ , he might have clued into the heightened vocality, the deeper satisfaction underlying Iwa’s rumbling groans as he sucks a series of hickeys across Tooru’s collarbones... but he isn’t conscious of much beyond the rapid pace of their breathing, laced with quickening slaps of skin until Iwaizumi fills Tooru’s ass with warmth, filling his mouth with a moan as he jerks Tooru’s own hot completion into the trenches of his clenched abs.

Iwaizumi flexes inside Tooru a little as he presses a slow tongue into his mouth, then removes himself just as slowly, pulling his pants back up before he disappears into the bathroom. Tooru doesn’t think much of it, feet splaying across the floor, gaze hovering vaguely on the wall across the room; his combined workouts are stacking through his muscles, and he’s feeling the burn.

“Think I need a different kind of stretching now,” he calls. Iwaizumi emerges with a wet washcloth in hand, and Tooru gives him an indolent smile. “Good thing my boyfriend’s an athletic trainer, huh?”

Iwaizumi’s mouth curves upward. “It’s always business with you.” He smoothes warm dampness over the drying smears on Tooru’s belly.

Tooru drawls, “Yeah, ‘cause you _give_ me the business, _ayyyyyy_.”

“What can I say,” Iwa says quietly, eyes tracing over Tooru’s torso in the wake of the washcloth. “I love what I do.”

Tooru’s heart wallops into his ribs, and he takes Iwaizumi in: tall(ish), dark, and handsome, flush still cooling in his cheeks. He sighs contentedly. Iwa’s eyes flick up to his, and Tooru favors him with a sweet smile. “You’re gorgeous, Iwa-chan.”

“Obviously.” Iwaizumi’s mouth quirks higher, and he leans in to press it to Tooru’s again. “How else am I going to keep a looker like you interested?

Tooru can think of many, many ways. He counts them in his head as Iwaizumi’s tongue slides alongside his once more.


	5. Chapter 5

##  **ON THE 8TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{8 maids a-milking}_

Tooru’s leaned up against his car carefully stretching his quads when Ushijima pulls into the beachfront lot.Ushijima forgoes a greeting as he walks up, instead asking, “Are you sore from our training yesterday?”

“Uh… not exactly,” Tooru says.

The truth is that, after fucking him thoroughly into the couch, Iwaizumi had put Tooru through his sexy paces twice more that night, in increasingly creative positions. And while Tooru deeply appreciated the electrically-sensual training regime his man had structured just for him, no amount of between-rounds stretching changes the fact that Tooru’s feeling that intense combo of isometrics today.

Tooru takes a chance on Ushijima’s comfort levels vis-à-vis dropping sex talk into casual conversation and gives him a blunt run-down of the filthy action while they cycle through warm-up stretches, almost entirely just to see if it’s enough to shock him into having an expression (it is not). All Ushijima does is fix Tooru with a serious gaze and say, “In that case, we should take it easy today. While it is helpful that you have a partner who can capably monitor your overall condition, it would not do for you to injure yourself by overdoing it.”

“I know that,” Tooru snaps.

They jog lightly up and down the edge of the tide, silent until Ushijima asks how Iwaizumi is handling that famous grad-school workload. “My father told me there is more research required for a master’s degree, so he has been trying to lighten Hajime’s practical work somewhat for the holiday season. Hajime told him you would be visiting.”

“That’s kind of him,” Tooru says. “Iwa-chan seems to be doing pretty well with everything. He’s always been able to concentrate better on the stuff he’s truly interested in, so he can focus well enough to get stuff done before too many things pile up.”

He thinks for a moment, pondering the mild stress he’s picked up on when he’s come home to Iwaizumi the last few days—something Tooru reads in him better than most, due to long practice—but it’s been minor enough that it mellows out of Iwaizumi’s expression as soon as Tooru comes close enough to put lips on him, which nine-and-a-half times out of ten leads quickly to their other favorite stress-reducing activity.

The conversation moves on, and they end their hang with an impromptu footrace that Tooru wins by a few hairs. His victory cry of “ ** _Eat it_** _,_ how do you like me now, _bitch,_ ” is received with stony confusion and a quiet utterance of “You did not have to win to gain my approval,” and then they go their separate ways.

At Iwaizumi’s texted request, Tooru stops by the grocery store to pick up some dry pasta and wine. He breezes through the door to the highly-refreshing sight of Iwaizumi in the kitchen, shirtless and stirring spaghetti-sauce smells into the air from the pot on his little stove.

He angles a grin over his shoulder. “How was the beach today?”

“Beachy. A little chillier than yesterday.” Tooru sets the box of pasta on the counter next to the stove and cozies up behind his boyfriend, pressing himself against the strong contours of Iwa’s back and nuzzling his neck, dropping a series of kisses along his hairline. Iwaizumi hums and continues stirring; Tooru gives him a noisy final smooch and moves away to dig out the corkscrew. “I couldn’t find any malbecs in this cultural backwater, so we’ll have to settle for a moderately-priced cabernet.”

“Life really is suffering,” Iwaizumi responds blandly.

“And how was your day, baby?” Tooru purrs in his ear, purposefully rubbing himself against Iwaizumi from behind as he reaches over his shoulder to get at the cabinet where he keeps the glassware.

Iwa huffs a few chuckles out his nose and leaves the spoon in the pot as he turns to wrap his arms around Tooru. “I got a lot done today, actually.”

“Way to go, babe.” Tooru congratulates him with a soft kiss—and then another, then one more for luck—but as he reaches for the wine glasses, Iwaizumi presses forward, walking them across the tiny kitchen space until Tooru’s back is against the opposite counter. His playful smile makes Tooru light up inside, and he grins back. “What, we going full college tonight and drinking from the bottle?”

“Why not?” Iwaizumi says. “I hate washing wine glasses.” He reaches behind Tooru and closes his hand around the bottle, tipping some into his mouth, rolling it around a little before swallowing.

“How is it?” Tooru asks.

“Not bad,” Iwaizumi says. “Here, you try.”

But instead of passing Tooru the bottle or holding it up to his lips, Iwaizumi takes another sip and leans up to push their mouths together, slipping tongue and wine into Tooru’s eager mouth—and objectively speaking, the wine is pretty good, but Iwa-chan enhances it twentyfold; Tooru’s hands slide around to root in his hair so he can form a suitable taste profile of this exclusive blend.

He whispers a fervid _“more”_ into Iwa’s lips and gives his lover just enough space to slot the bottle between them. Iwaizumi tips an overzealous pour into his mouth, and Tooru swallows as much as he can, though some still spills from the corner of his lips, dripping quick down his chin to his t-shirt—not that Tooru gives a shit, he’s wearing black; tasting Iwaizumi again is a much sharper concern. Iwa taunts him a little, eyes hot as he swipes his tongue up along the drip path and retreats. Tooru follows it back to the source immediately and winds his around it once more, pressing his rising interest against the magnificently firm body in front of him, moaning low in his throat.

Iwaizumi slips a hand down, feeling up the sturdy outline Tooru’s making in his jersey shorts, and pulls away from his lips enough to murmur, “Damn, guess you’re really hungry.”

“Starving,” Tooru murmurs back, sucking in a breath as Iwaizumi drags strong fingers up and down the underside of his dick.

“Well,” Iwaizumi says, kissing an ellipsis up his neck, “dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?” Antithetical to his suggestion, he cups his hand around Tooru’s erection and rubs him in earnest, kissing leisurely along his jawline as Tooru flexes up against his bewitching palm, earlier soreness all but forgotten.

“Come with me,” he pants. “I’ve been drinking— _mh_ , I might slip and fall.”

“I’m cooking dinner, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi murmurs across his cheek, only to suck Tooru’s lower lip into his mouth as he sneaks his hand down the front of Tooru’s shorts and grabs him, skin to skin.

Tooru pushes their mouths together fully, wrapping his arms around Iwa’s neck and one leg around his hip, shamelessly gyrating into his tight grip. “Fuck dinner,” he breathes against Iwaizumi’s mouth, “and fuck _me_.”

Iwaizumi grins. “Gotta eat a healthy meal before we can have dessert.”

He sweeps his tongue into Tooru’s mouth, then slithers two steps sideways out of his arms to wash his hands, nonchalant as you please. Tooru wilts against the counter, throbbing, thoroughly debauched, and glares at him. “You’re seriously cock-teasing me?”

Iwaizumi eyes him as he starts to dry his hands, then steps close again. Tooru manages to maintain his disappointed face until Iwa presses his own stiff cock into Tooru’s thigh, grinding languidly for a few seconds as a feral curve shapes his mouth. “Just whetting your appetite, baby.”

He steps away again before Tooru can grab him to kiss him (again), so Tooru leans over to slap his ass as he turns back to the stove, grumbling. “If I didn’t love you so much…”

Iwaizumi throws dark green eyes over one of those strong shoulders, and Tooru trails off, because there’s no conceivable universe where that would even be a possibility.

And Iwaizumi gives him a devastating smile, because there's also no conceivable universe where he can't read every one of Tooru's thoughts on his emotional billboard of a face. “If you didn’t love me so much…?” he prompts.

“Shut up,” Tooru growls at him. Iwaizumi snorts, insultingly loud, so Tooru throws out a distraction tactic of his own, stripping off right there in the kitchen, leaving his clothes heaped where he stands.

Iwa’s laughter quiets immediately. Tooru preens a little under his heated gaze.

“We can talk about it after dinner,” he says, and flounces off across the room, feeling Iwaizumi’s eyes on him until he closes the bathroom door.


	6. Chapter 6

##  **ON THE 7TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{7 swans a-swimming}_

Tooru spends the morning wandering aimlessly around a shopping center, hunting for last-minute Christmas gifts with Ushijima. He doesn’t actually have anything left to buy, but he’s happy to follow Ushijima around, providing running commentary and talking more than enough for the both of them. It’s truly strange how much he’s been enjoying hanging out with his old rival, despite the fact that Ushijima appreciates almost none of his jokes and remains wholly dedicated to playing the straight man—at least figuratively; the topic of who charms Ushijima’s snake has yet to come up.

While his new buddy is distracted trying to figure out the difference between two brands of fancy compression socks, Tooru strays farther afield and happens upon a string of miniature colored Christmas lights. The tag claims they’re intended to decorate a bicycle, but they’re perfectly-sized for the tiny tree. This tickles Tooru more than he’s willing to admit—particularly to his placid companion, the one responsible for the existence of said tiny tree—but Ushijima is very busy frowning at sock labels, so Tooru buys them and hides them in his jacket pocket.

They cap off their outing by indulging in some dumb holiday drinks at Starbucks and part ways early so Ushijima can go meet his dad for lunch, thus Tooru breezes through Iwaizumi’s apartment door earlier than usual, bearing coffee and witty anecdotes. The bathroom door is cracked and the light is on, so Tooru sing-songs, “ _Estoy en ca-sa_ , I am hoooome!” as he drops his car keys on the kitchen counter.

He ferries the coffee to the coffee table, then dumps his purchase out on Iwaizumi’s desk next to the festive greenery it will momentarily bedeck. He finagles the batteries out of their plastic container as he continues talking. “Ushiwaka sends his regards. Let it also be known that he finds the concept of eggnog highly confusing, much to the delight of the barista serving us, who was forced into a ten minute conversation about why traditional milk punches are so different from country to country.” He snaps the batteries in and drapes the lights around the rosemary tree. “Poor kid was just trying to get through their shift. But I made sure to tip extra, don’t worry.”

He hears the bathroom light click off and turns, getting a pleasant eyeful of his shirtless boyfriend. He steps aside with his hands out presentation-style. “Ta-dah! Super cute, right?”

Tooru’s referring to the tree, but Iwaizumi’s gaze doesn’t shift away from his face as he approaches. He’s moving slowly, posture a little stiffer than usual, and Tooru’s eyebrows crumple inward slightly. He shifts his open hands toward Iwa. “You okay?”

Iwaizumi gives him a gruff “yup” before he’s pressing Tooru against the desk and giving him tongue. Tooru hums blissfully and reads the potent intention in the kiss, scooting onto the desk as Iwaizumi pushes the tree pot out from behind him, hands coming back to blaze their way up Tooru’s thighs to undo his pants. Tooru lifts up a little so Iwaizumi can wriggle them over the curve of his ass, yanking them most of the way down, leaving them tangled around Tooru’s feet in his hurry to magic his clever fingers over Tooru’s hardening cock.

Tooru gasps and sucks Iwaizumi’s tongue deeper into his mouth while Iwa works him to dripping arousal with rough tugs that Tooru flexes upward to meet as he clings around Iwa’s hips with his knees. Then Iwaizumi’s mouth is abseiling down his neck; Tooru has to interrupt it for the spare moment it takes to tear his shirt off, so Iwaizumi’s scattered affections can grace bared skin all the way down on his mission to drown Tooru in hot, wet suction, a carnal immersion that has Tooru arching almost off the desk—head back, jaw slack, enjoyment _loud_.

Iwaizumi slides a hand up his chest to steady him, easing him all the way back against the wall, never stopping the robust swirl of his tongue along the underside of Tooru’s dick. Tooru clasps one hand over the edge of the desk, one over the top of Iwa’s, and holds on for dear life, failing to keep his moans anywhere close to acceptable volume—sorry, not sorry, neighbors!—while Iwaizumi wreaks thigh-fluttering indulgence up and down, around and around, staggering molten pleasure along every inch of his cock.

They deal out blowjobs pretty evenly; Iwaizumi tends to favor a more deliberate tempo when he’s using his mouth, whereas Tooru is all about sloppy enthusiasm. He has never had any complaints with Iwa’s technique, but this fresh intensity is causing him to deeply reflect on the conceptual merits of _get you a man who can do both_. Time stretches strangely when a person’s getting their knob meticulously slobbed, but it’s probably only minutes before Tooru’s clamping fingers around Iwaizumi’s forearm, shouting as he pulses into his mouth. Iwaizumi sucks him until he’s soft, and Tooru musses his fingers through Iwa’s hair, gasping softly, edging his breaths with whining as overstimulated tingles spike through his groin.

Iwaizumi stands back up and leans forward to seal his mouth over Tooru’s again. Tooru takes the opportunity to skim a hand up and into Iwaizumi’s reliably-tented sweatpants, wrapping his hand around the deliciously sticky pole he finds there, pumping over it slowly enough to give Iwa’s Prince Albert the royal treatment. Iwaizumi provides regal fanfare, deep groans rumbling in his broad chest as his hips jerk under Tooru’s handling.

Tooru sits up, wriggling one leg free of the bottoms still clinging to him, and slides off the desk, ignoring the papers sticking to his ass as he reverses their positions, steering Iwaizumi with a hand on his chest—not to speak of the hand steadily working the length of the metaphorical rudder. Iwaizumi lets himself be pushed around, but seems content to stand. He slides his sweatpants down his thighs, giving his well-choked cock some fresh air, bracing back against the desk as Tooru sucks on his tongue some more—always and forever thirsty for this decently tall drink of water—and, of course, Tooru’s happy to have him any which way, so he bids a brief farewell to Iwaizumi’s supple lips to skip his own down the well-trodden path winding between substantial pecs and deliciously-defined abdominals, turning sultry eyes upward as he levels with that top-shelf dick.

Tooru’s eyelids sink as he slicks ardent spit up that hot length—famished for more of Iwaizumi's skin, his beloved noise—hungry palms gliding over his hips, caressing the upper swell of his ass, sliding his tongue up and down, pushing Iwa’s cock against his tensing abs as he works the piercing in fierce circles. Iwa groans louder, twines his fingers tighter in Tooru’s hair—and _ooh_ ** _fuck_** _, it’s like_ ** _that_** _today, huh?_

Tooru moans reverently as he swallows him, fingers sliding further around, digging in, massaging the muscular curves of Iwaizumi’s ass in deliberate languorous rotations, fingers creeping inward a little more each time. When his hands have crawled around enough to fondle full handfuls of tender rump—roast it, slice it, _feed me, baby_ —Tooru deepens his cock intake even more, slowing the movement of his head to match the pace he’s using to spread Iwaizumi open.

Iwaizumi's an intense individual most of the time, but this particular crackling, frenetic energy he’s exhibiting is unusual—Tooru typically has the market cornered on desperation—but… this just might be a sign that it’s a good time to test the waters of an as-of-yet unaddressed fantasy.

Though, _aspiration_ might be the more appropriate word to use, in this case.

Because it’s true that Tooru is _completely happy_ with the status quo they’ve established in their partnership, and he wouldn’t trade the feeling of Iwaizumi’s hot love chorizo filling him up for anything in the world.

But while he would be copacetic with never actually getting to stick his dick in his sexy-as-fuck boyfriend, it's a coexisting truth that he still yearns to overfill Iwaizumi’s pleasure cup with some steamy ass-play, as Iwaizumi’s done for him many, _many_ , _( **many** )_ times over.

So he squeezes his lover’s cock further down his throat as he strokes light fingertips over the inward curve of those taut ass-cheeks, millimeters closer, _closer_ —

Until Iwaizumi’s hands fly out of his hair and back to plaster themselves over his, trapping them, dragging out a moaned “ _Fu-u-uck—”_ as he jerkily flexes his hips back, pulling his cock out of Tooru’s voracious clutches to coat his tongue with a telling amount of pre-ejaculate. Tooru whines sharply and chases him, taking him all the way down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss around the base of his cock as he uses his hands to encourage Iwa to thrust in earnest.

But Iwaizumi’s response is tentative, hips loosening slowly as he grits his teeth around the sounds of Tooru’s name, keeping Tooru’s hands clasped tight to his tensed glutes as he lets his orgasm unwind and spill down Tooru’s throat.

Tooru hums and only coughs once when he pulls back—practice makes perfect, y'know—giving the head of Iwaizumi’s cock a last loving lick before Iwa sinks down to meet him in a kiss, tongue lashing forward, tasting every inch of Tooru’s mouth like it’s the first time. Tooru slides his hands up to wrap them around Iwa’s back, pulling them flush together as they kneel there on the floor, basking in sweaty reciprocal worship.

Except that when Tooru slides his hands back down for another cheeky squeeze, Iwaizumi stiffens a little. He twists his tongue around Tooru’s in a way that makes him see stars, and then gets quickly to his feet, hitching his sweats back up before he offers his hands.

Tooru lets Iwaizumi help him up—confused, but also still entirely sex-stupid—and welcomes the centering weight of his strong arms coming around his waist as Iwa engages him in yet another kiss, this one open-mouthed but gentle, gearing down further to a sprinkle of lips all over Tooru’s cheeks and a finishing peck to the tip of his nose.

Iwaizumi’s voice comes out a little hoarse as he says, “I’m still working on a few things, but I think I can wrap them up pretty quick. Just need to focus for a bit.”

Tooru nudges their noses together. “I’ll be quiet,” he whispers—a promise he doesn’t make lightly, but a minor thing in the grand scheme of what he’s willing to promise the man holding him.

Iwaizumi gives him a smile, one more soft kiss, then disappears back into the bathroom.

Tooru slowly struggles back into the knots of clothing he had just been wearing.

He might be misreading the energy here. It’s entirely possible he’s overthinking things, a known curse he falls prey to every half-decade or so, but…

Something feels _off_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only half-beta'd; if something reads weird, mea culpa

##  **ON THE 6TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{6 geese a-laying}_

The weird feelings quieted somewhat overnight.

Iwaizumi had finished his work quickly, as promised, then spent the darkening hours letting Tooru dictate their physical proximity—and true to his nature, Tooru had dictated like a _champ_ : when they’d cuddled up to watch a movie on the couch, he’d wedged himself between Iwaizumi’s legs, flattening blanket-like against his front; when their takeout dinner arrived, he’d straddled Iwa and pulled his food out of his hands, proceeding to feed each of them bites, with a variety of kisses peppered in for seasoning.

This had devolved into a round of rowdy cowboy sex, resulting in noodles all over the floor and some special sauce all over Iwa’s chest, followed by a hasty clean-up and some hastier hand-stuff in the shower while they’d lovingly mauled each other a third time. Then they’d snuggled under the covers to wind down with some quiet shit-talk, which, under the particularly hefty layer of post-coital exhaustion, had trickled down to softer remarks expressed mouth-to-mouth—condensed sweetness that Iwaizumi reserves for extra-special occasions when Tooru’s insecurity becomes noticeably pronounced.

In the moment, it had been comforting. Iwaizumi has always seen through him, and it’s terrifically endearing whenever he makes a concerted effort to smooth his feathers, considering how often Tooru squawks and ruffles.

And that’s all well and good, but another morning of waking up to Iwaizumi already out of bed (making him coffee and eggs, what a jerk) has that niggling little mutter of concern scraping out another space to live in the back of his brain.

Currently, he’s sitting across from Ushijima in a weird little bakery recommended by Ushijima’s dad, ritualistically stirring hand-whipped cream into his ultra-dark (and probably organic) hot chocolate, mindlessly chewing his lip as he watches the shades in his cup blend.

“Are you alright?” Ushijima asks.

“Yeah,” Tooru lies.

Of course, today would be the one day Ushijima decides to pick up on subtext, because he does that straight-backed lean over the table, speaking at therapist volume. “Are you sure? I know we are new at being friends, but I am a good listener.”

Tooru makes a face at him for that god-awfully earnest knife to the gut, and lets his spoon clatter against the side of his mug so he can take a drink of chocolate so heavenly it actually makes him a little angry. “What the _fuck_ , this is _delicious!”_ he complains.

“Yes. That is why my father recommended it,” Ushijima says, taking a peaceable sip of his own.

Tooru scowls at him and drinks deep, savoring mouthful after mouthful until he can feel endorphins fuzzing around in his bloodstream, taking the tiniest edge off. He heaves a chocolatey sigh. “Does stress make people extra horny?”

To his credit, Ushijima considers this for a solid minute while he enjoys his own dark decadence, sipping with uncommon primness for a man so large. He says, “Stress causes many things to happen in the human body. I do not think it is outside the realm of possibility that being stressed could make a person want to engage in greater amounts of sexual release.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I was thinking,” Tooru mumbles. He stares at the table. “Something’s off with Iwa-chan.”

Ushijima blinks steadily at him over the rim of his cup, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.

Tooru fills in the blanks, somewhat grudgingly—he hadn't expected to be seeking counsel from Ushijima so soon in this fledgling camaraderie. “Things feeling off is usually a bad thing, but this doesn’t feel _bad_.” He stirs at his chocolate again, just for something to do with hands. “Just off, like there’s something I’m missing.”

“Have you and Hajime fought recently?” Ushijima asks.

Tooru shrugs. “I mean, we fight about dumb things all the time, but that's basically foreplay. It’s rare that we fight about anything for real.”

“Hmm,” Ushijima says, taking a bigger drink of hot chocolate.

“It’s like… he’s way more intense than usual,” Tooru says. He licks chocolate off his spoon and sets it aside. “And it’s _good_ … like,” he lifts emphatically-insinuating eyebrows, “really, _really_ _good_ … but I’m not sure how to read it.”

“Hmm,” Ushijima says again. He sets his mug down, revealing the solemn chocolate mustache he’s given himself, complete with a smooch of whipped cream on the tip of his nose. “Does the off feeling mostly make its presence known when you and Hajime have intercourse?” 

Tooru already has his phone out to snap a picture of him. “Yes and no. It’s hard to say, really; we fuck _a lot_.” He leans on one elbow, slouching against the arm of his chair as he drops his phone on the table and swirls his mug of chocolate. “Not a lot of downtime for considerations, if you catch my drift.”

Ushijima nods calmly. “That is understandable. You must make the best use of the time you share with your partner.”

“Yeah…” Tooru mumbles wretchedly, already dreading the sting of having to say goodbye in weeks to come—that looming misery machete that hovers over him every time he visits, ready to thunk into his ribcage as soon as TSA swallows him and he loses sight of the love of his life yet again… They’re pros at this process, but Tooru longingly awaits the day they can retire from this particular gig—though, realistically, it’s still a significant way into the future. He gazes into his cup. “I dunno, maybe I’ve just underestimated how much grad school stuff he’s got piled on those supremely dreamy shoulders.”

“It is a difficult time,” Ushjima says, “but you and Hajime seem to communicate well. You should ask him to be honest with you about how he is doing.”

This is a very sensible response, and one Tooru has every intention of implementing when he arrives back at the apartment. Iwaizumi’s standing at his bookshelf flipping through a heavily-tabbed textbook when he comes in, eyes continuing to scan the pages as he mumbles, “Hey, you.”

Tooru tosses his keys counter-ward, de-shoes, and moseys closer, reaching behind Iwa to set the drink he brought him on the desk (the bakery’s special dark mocha). Then he makes a complete arm circle around his boyfriend, snuggling against Iwa’s side and pressing soft lips to his neck. “Hey, lover.”

He rests his cheek on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, letting him speed-read in silence until he drops a kiss into Tooru’s hair and murmurs, “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready to take a long break.”

“Okay,” Tooru murmurs back, pulling his head up to press a longer, more promising kiss against his throat before retreating to the couch for some phone-scrolling to while away the Iwaizumi-less minutes. As he gets comfy in his preferred corner, his gaze passes over the kitchen counter again; this time, he notices the jar of coconut oil sitting out, lid half-on.

Iwaizumi is habitually half-assed about putting things away, so this isn’t unusual. Tooru pulls up the Seijoh group chat to send them the pic he snapped of Ushiwaka’s chocolate face and asks, “Did you make stir fry for lunch?” 

“Hm?” Iwaizumi glances over at him, then follows his nod to the coconut oil. “...oh, i—uh, nah. Had an idea earlier. Just a few more minutes and I’ll tell ya.”

Tooru distracts himself with chat idiocy—it’s early morning in Japan and Kindaichi’s the only one awake, but they can generate plenty of nonsense between the two of them in absence of the late risers—until Iwaizumi caps his pen and comes to join him. Tooru immediately crawls into his lap, kissing him properly before demanding, “So, explain me this mystical _idea_.”

“I meant to pick up some bougie massage oil before you got here, but end-of-year stuff swamped me,” Iwaizumi says, pressing the pads of his fingers into Tooru’s back, mouth curving sweetly in a way it only does when they’re alone. “But then I remembered coconut oil is multifunctional, so… I was wanting to give you a massage.”

Tooru frowns at him. “If anyone needs a massage, it’s you.” He lightly scrapes his nails up and down the back of Iwaizumi’s neck. “I don’t have your fancy official skills, but let me—”

“Oh, it’s not just the skills, baby…” Iwaizumi ghosts his lips over Tooru’s, eyes aflame. “There’s a _surprise_ involved in this massage.”

Tooru snorts quietly. “Is that code for giving me a happy ending?” He lightly traces Iwaizumi’s bottom lip with his tongue.

Iwaizumi’s tongue flicks out to meet his for an electric moment, and he says, “Something like that, yeah.”

Viscerally intrigued, Tooru climbs off Iwaizumi, who rises a moment later to slide warm hands up his sides and murmur, “Strip off, then lie facedown on the bed.”

Tooru follows orders slowly, shucking his clothes while Iwaizumi fetches the jar of oil, then taking some time to fuss with a pillow to put under his head so he has plenty of time to return Iwa’s hot gaze as he stretches out, pointedly prearranging his swelling dick on an upward slant under his belly.

Iwaizumi has gone commando as a rule since they made things official, so he’s naked one step sooner, pulling his shirt and track pants off to present Tooru with his delectable birthday suit before he climbs onto the bed and straddles his ass. The solid heat of him makes Tooru tingle with anticipation. 

Iwaizumi trails warm fingers up either side of his spine before digging gently into the meat of his shoulders, and he turns to putty immediately—he’s always easy where Iwaizumi’s concerned, but particularly when it comes to having those hands on him—seeping into the duvet as steady fingers inscribe pliancy into the planes of his back. Iwa works his way down at leisure, slowly ironing out the snags and tender spots he finds in Tooru’s lumbar curve before he shifts downward to hover over the backs of his knees, kneading suppleness into his sturdy glutes, gently loosening some rogue hamstrings.

Tooru is half-asleep from this meticulous handling, would have remained so but for the awareness that pricks along the insides of his thighs as Iwaizumi’s hands begin to move upward once more. They pause for the few moments it takes to warm a bit more oil on Tooru’s skin, then smooth it in lazy circles up, up, a little dip in, _oh_ —until Iwaizumi’s slathering oil over his extremely relaxed hole.

Tooru moans quietly and arches his back a little; Iwaizumi answers his wordless plea with a tease of silk-slick fingers sliding into him, wide rotations bringing elasticity at the most intimate level.

Tooru whines into his pillow, rubbing himself shamelessly against the sheets until he feels the fingers withdraw, firm thickness quickly taking their place. A luxuriant groan echoes in his throat, and he clenches vixen-like around it, mewling… until he abruptly realizes it isn’t Iwaizumi he’s squeezing. 

He clamps down more purposefully to get a clearer feel for what his sweet Iwa-chan has chosen to put inside him instead of the exquisite cock he’s so desperate for, comes to the conclusion that there’s a silicone plug in his ass, then props himself up to angle a seductively-peeved look over his shoulder, drawling, “While I appreciate the essence of the surprise, darling, I’m pretty sure we fuck enough to skip the middleman.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes smolder at him, corner of his mouth pulling up crookedly. “Always so impatient.” He comes down on all fours, caging Tooru's body as he crawls up to capture his lips in a blistering kiss. Tooru smirks into it, always happy to get his way...

Then Iwa flattens his hips and rocks the heft of his cock against the wide flat base of the plug so that it presses all the way into Tooru’s ass, grinding directly over his prostate.

Tooru breaks their kiss on a sharp moan, and Iwaizumi doubles down, gyrating harder against him, swirling his hips in deliberately wide motions, dragging the plug around to stretch Tooru’s rim every which way to maddening delirium. Tooru burrows his forehead into the pillow, spreading his knees out more so he can rut his throbbing cock into the bed, Iwaizumi’s hips guiding the undulations of his own with devastating slowness. Tooru's panting breaths fill the shallow space between his forearms, punctuated with pleasure sounds, and Iwaizumi’s lips brand him, dripping generous heat down between his shoulder blades then back up, etching his personal signature into the back of Tooru’s neck with careful nips of teeth as he edges him closer, closer…

Then he pushes up and off of Tooru to settle calmly back astride his ass, squashing his busy hips flat into the sheets.

Tooru lies there a moment, mildly stunned. Hands brush up his spine once more to mold themselves around his traps, pushing strong thumbs through the bowstring-levels of tension their master just created, and Tooru emits an explosive groan. He pounds a fist into the mattress and twists his mouth to the side to snarl, “ _Puta madre **carajo** , jódeme **ahora mismo** o me muero_.” {Mother _fuck_ , fuck me _right now_ or I'll die}

Iwaizumi is unmoved, now pulling his knuckles down the furrows on either side of Tooru’s spine. “You haven’t taught me all those words yet. Sounds pretty hot, though.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tooru grumbles, cramming his pillow into a ball under his chest, violently pouty.

Iwaizumi thumbs pacifying circles into his lower back and gives him a husky chuckle. “So, _so_ impatient.”

The thumbs amplify to palms that mash Tooru’s midsection into the bed as Iwaizumi drops his hips and drags his pelvis over the plug again. A new groan melts out of Tooru’s mouth, softening as Iwaizumi grabs the plug and eases it back out of him. He hears the snap of a cap—different lube, which means-!—and responds quickly, fluffing the pillow back out to shove his face in, scooting his knees under his hips, presenting himself for inspection—a task Iwaizumi undertakes with his lips, dotting firm kisses here and there before a third kind of lubricant finds its way into the mix in the form of his tongue casually dipping into Tooru’s asshole.

Tooru’s fist is already wrapped around his aching cock, barely enough breath in him to gasp, “Iwa-chan, _fuck me,_ **_please_**.” 

Iwaizumi hums low in his throat. He grazes his teeth over Tooru’s inner thigh, taking the time to work a gentle hickey into the skin right below his butt-cheek. Then he swipes the flat of his tongue up the cleft of Tooru’s ass and gets into position, dragging the slickened bead of his piercing over Tooru’s slippery hole. “Well now, who am I to delay when you’re asking so nicely…”

Tooru doesn’t manage to say much more for quite a while, only variations of _harder_ and whatever length of Iwaizumi’s name he has enough air in him to utter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Peril PSA:** coconut oil is great lube, but not slick enough to be advisable for thrusting!


	8. Chapter 8

##  **ON THE 5TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS**  
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

###  _{5 golden rings}_

The next day is surprisingly chilly for South Cali winter, so Tooru and Ushijima have the beach almost entirely to themselves.

The temperature is hardly an issue for two dudes who grew up around mountains, though it does make things somewhat less fun—then again, fun is not a necessary component of domination, and neither of them really came to _play,_ per se. They move quietly through their warm-ups side by side, then step onto the beach court they’re about to tear up like sumo wrestlers, stamping purposefully into the sand, puffing to their full heights and sizing each other up.

Tooru takes up his post by the net and spins the regulation beach volleyball he’s conjured—by way of Iwaizumi’s ultra-magical borrowing skills—between his palms, brows flat across his forehead. “ _Che, cabronazo_ ,” he drawls, “ready to suck?”  
{hey, bastard}

Ushijima’s eyes are bright with competitive steel. “I am ready to succeed. It is you who will do the sucking.”

“Later,” Tooru leers at him, “but sure as shit not with you, chuckles.” He passes the ball straight into Ushijima’s broad chest and backs up a few steps, holding his fingers up to beckon him. “Get it to me and I’ll give you a toss.”

Ushijima doesn’t hesitate, and Tooru does his best to match him, digging through sensory memories—the odd float of the ball, Brazilian breeze tagging in at random to pull their play out of order, overly-accommodating sand soaking up precious seconds of response time—as he flicks the ball into a stunning arc. Ushijima whiffs it entirely, on account of the ball lilting two feet past him before it really hits its apex. He turns unblinking eyes on Tooru, who shrugs and mutters, “Beach has a rough learning curve.”

Ushijima dips his head in acknowledgment. “I suppose we will both suck for a while.”

“Me decidedly less than you, as you’ll be seeing shortly,” Tooru sneers.

Ushijima responds with a noncommittal hum and palms the ball, circling back a few steps to launch it up, but Tooru feels more settled now—ball to fingers, feet to sand... wind swirling a little left, this angle should _do it_ —and laughs openly when his unlikely teammate whiffs again, squandering the perfect beach toss Tooru just served up for him.

“I do not see why this is so funny,” Ushijima says, eyebrows shuffling together.

“Yeah, but when do you ever,” Tooru points out, only half-joking.

Ushijima is clearly uncomfortable being a loser, because he quickly turns the focus back around, pinning Tooru with a heavy gaze. “Did you resolve your worries with your partner yesterday?”

“ _Fuck you_ , don’t bring Iwa-chan into this!” Tooru bristles, misinterpreting the pancake-flat intonation.

Ushijima holds up a placating hand, blinking stolidly. “Pardon my tone, the inquiry is purely out of concern.”

“Sorry,” Tooru mutters, scuffing fingers through his tousling hair, “old habits… uh, honestly, not really.” He huffs out all his breath, lets the wind nip it out to sea. “Iwa-chan’s excellent with the distraction tactics.”

Ushjima tosses the ball lightly into the air, watching the wind nab it and dump it unceremoniously a few feet to his right. He turns his gaze back on Tooru, waiting for him to continue.

Tooru throws his hands up and lets them flop back down by his sides. “What do you want? He gave me a massage and we fucked all night! I tried to get him to let me massage _him_ , but he _wouldn’t_ , and I can’t _possibly_ be expected to ignore his raw animal magnetism now that we’re finally together because I’ve already endured _enough_ of that goddamned torture in my life, thanks _very_ much.”

“Your combined stamina is impressive,” is all Ushijima has to say to that.

Tooru stalks over to grab up the ball. “Are you going to spike this thing or not?” 

“Is this the extent of your teaching ability?” Ushijima asks. Tooru mimics him in a nasty voice like the child-wearing-a-man-suit he is, and they sink into a small eddy of bickering, followed by a lengthy stretch of successful dinks.

When Ushijima finally manages to send the ball cascading over the net, he presents Tooru with an annoyingly calm “Hmm” and a bland, withering look that seems to be his unique way of showing pride.

Tooru scowls at him. “Don’t get cocky, Ushiwaka.”

“Of course not,” Ushijima says. “You are cocky enough for the both of us.”

They spend the rest of their session drawing the attention of a few moderately-bundled passersby, titillated (as most would be) by the pair of handsome beefy men screeching at each other—mostly Tooru, but whatever—tearing around like maniacs, diving after the ball like their lives depend on it.

Lives, pride, bragging rights... _same fucking difference._

Tooru arrives back at the apartment significantly training-disheveled; also a little chilled, despite slurping down half the hot gas-station coffee he'd just picked up (one for each of them, naturally; being outside of Argentina has no bearing on keeping the spirit of _tomando un cafecito_ alive). The light glowing from under the closed bathroom door indicates where Iwaizumi is. Tooru shelves his more conversational intentions—just for a little while, okay, it’s been _hours_ since his last hit of those lips—and calls out, “ _Amorcito, ven aquí pa’abrazos y beso-besitos_.” {sweetheart, c'mere for hugs and smooches}

“Immersion’s doing wonders for your accent, but I only caught half of that,” Iwaizumi calls back through the door. The sink gushes on.

Tooru ambles over to set their drinks on the coffee table, appreciating that his boyfriend is the kind of man who will thoroughly wash his hands just to come run them all over his sweat-nasty self— _wait, NO, he can do that later, **focus**_ —then the door opens, and he spins around to see Iwaizumi come out of the bathroom, noticeably red in the face and grumpy.Naturally, Tooru doubles down on the annoyance potential of slinging more drawled Spanish at him, smile widening as he croons “ _Dale, ¡qué hombre! Mis labios solo calentan por vos._ ” {come on, what a man! My lips only heat for you.} He sways across the room to link arms around Iwaizumi’s neck and snuggles up tantalizingly close, purring, “ _Dame lengua, guapo_.” {Gimme tongue, handsome.}

Iwaizumi gives him a deadly forehead crinkle, not unlike an old-school Yakuza body-man who’s had it up to here with hyped-up whippersnapper bullshit. Tooru snorts laughter into the hollow of his throat for a few seconds, then smooths things over with his lips, smooching up Iwaizumi’s neck and all over his face, nudging their foreheads together. “What’s wrong, huh? Did my baby have a hard shit? Does my dearest darlingest require a stool softener? But say the word, and I shall fly hence to yon pharmacy, ’tis but a trifle.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth pulls up a little at one corner. “Not constipated, but thanks for the offer.”

He slips his hands into the small of Tooru’s back and brushes the sides of their noses together, lips separated by a thought. Tooru quickly perishes it, pressing his mouth forward, desire lulling him comfortably thoughtless when he’s in Iwa’s arms. They breathe together, tasting small sips of each other, engaging in the most languid dégustation; compliments edge the tip of Tooru’s tongue, and he passes them directly to the chef. Iwaizumi receives them and tangles Tooru in his own slick repartee, rough grace and warmth and everything Tooru's always been in love with. 

And he tries to preserve the easygoing pace—really, he does—but he can’t help himself sometimes— _(most times)_ —not when Iwaizumi offers his sweetness so freely; a powerful man making himself tame is disarmingly piquant, and Tooru’s appetite salts his blood with fever as he slides his gluttonous tongue more fully into Iwaizumi’s mouth, greedy for every love scrap he can lap up, all coalescing to heat that feeds the generous swelling in his athletic shorts. Iwaizumi clocks it immediately, and hums quietly against him, arms crawling more securely around his torso. Tooru moves his mouth down to Iwa’s neck again, fiercer this time, craving escalation, and Iwa hums a little louder, but his hands stay where they are. He presses a light kiss to Tooru’s earlobe and murmurs, “Want to get naked and watch a movie?”

This is Iwaizumi’s personal shorthand for _let’s just cuddle—_ and fair enough; they’ve been putting the "fuck" into "fuck-ton of fucking", which isn’t sustainable regardless of how much endurance they’ve trained into their bodies _—_ but Tooru has no objections, as long as he’s getting some kind of skin time. So he gentles his passionate lips and dials it back to eskimo kisses, nosing up Iwa’s cheek. “Sounds good, baby.”

He takes a quick, Iwaizumi-free shower— _life is suffering_ —and exits jaybird-style (naked as) to loom over his boyfriend on the couch; Iwaizumi gives him a mildly-tired smile, holds his arms up over his head so Tooru can gently strip him. Tooru contemplates the slow exposure of his beloved's toned physique— _art exists to be admired_ —but mentally scolds his boner away as he wiggles his butt in between those strong legs, presses his warm back to that warm front; Iwaizumi’s arms slip around him, lips brushing love on Tooru’s shoulder.

Tooru purrs back at him, and brushes gentle palms along the outsides of his thighs. “What do you want to watch?”

Iwaizumi shoves his forehead into the back of Tooru's neck, mumbling down his spine. “You pick. I just need some downtime to recharge, I’m good with whatever.” 

Tooru leans his head back over the top of Iwa’s. “So, like, _Real Housewives_ or something?”

“If that’s what you want,” is all Iwaizumi says.

“Is this docile creature really my Iwa-chan?” Tooru twists himself so he’s sideways in Iwaizumi’s lap, and Iwa nuzzles his face against Tooru's chest. Tooru pulls his legs up to curl more protectively around him, fingers coming up to cradle his head. “You’re worrying me.”

Iwaizumi snuffles a laugh against him, presses lips to his skin. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just putting too much on my own plate.”

Tooru sighs and squeezes him a little closer. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“You’re already helping,” Iwaizumi murmurs. He presses his lips more firmly to Tooru’s chest, brings them up his neck.

“I know my being nude is a blessing on the entire world, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something more active I could be doing for you,” Tooru mutters. He nudges his cheek against Iwaizumi’s forehead. “How about that massage? I’ll keep it above the belt, I promise.” ****

Iwaizumi hums assent against the skin of his throat, and they shift around, Tooru putting his back to the arm of the couch as Iwaizumi slots himself betwixt Tooru's thighs.

Tooru presses tentative fingers into the cords of muscle layered over his lover’s back. “How’s this?”

“ _Mm_ ,” Iwaizumi grunts at him, letting his head dip forward. “Not bad... Get down in between my shoulder blades.” Tooru moves his thumbs like he’d felt Iwaizumi doing yesterday, and Iwaizumi grunts a little louder. “Dig around like there’s treasure.”

Tooru pushes his knuckles into the tough muscle, receiving a lengthy, appreciative groan this time. He can’t resist dashing a kiss against the nape of Iwa's neck. “But I’ve already _found_ the treasure.”

Iwaizumi makes a face over his shoulder. “I’m paying you to massage me, not rot my teeth out.”

"You're paying me?" Tooru spreads his hands across the span of Iwa's back and pulls his thumbs up the middle, digging the tips of them in as hard as he can.

“Standard rate _—n_ _nh..._ sexual favors.” Iwaizumi's grin is evident in the warmth of his voice.

Tooru plants another kiss on the freshly-tilled skin between Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades. “Oooh, I love a big spender." 

He falls into an easy rhythm, working his way up and down Iwaizumi’s sturdy back until Iwa relaxes into his arms, twisting his head to the side to give Tooru’s jaw a little smooch. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Tooru slips his hands around to rest on Iwaizumi’s solar plexus—he agreed to keep it clean, he’s sticking with it until otherwise notified—and gazes on the spread of him from above. “You know you can talk to me if something’s bugging you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Iwaizumi says, but he doesn’t say anything else, just slips his fingers up the far side of Tooru’s face and into his hair.

“Even if the something is me,” Tooru adds.

“Sure, ‘cause _that’s_ new,” Iwaizumi murmurs. He tips his head back and brushes another kiss under Tooru’s jaw. “Good thing I’ve got a soft spot for big shitty insects buzzing in my ear.”

Tooru releases a theatrical sigh, squeezing his arms tighter around him. “So rude, Iwa-chan! Good thing rude is my love language.”

He angles his mouth down to meet Iwaizumi’s, tender and slow. They lie there, wrapped up in each other, velvet kisses gradually turning satin, tongues exchanging heat as the shadows lengthen and grow around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _cafecito_ is an Argentine “custom” that basically consists of sitting around for hours talking over coffee/snacks/whatever (less about the coffee, more about the socializing)


End file.
